diealone | ✈ day one hundred and twenty nine, video

[The Jack who appears on screen is a little more haggard looking than normal. He's sitting on the bed in the other Jack's apartment, which is clean and looks expensive even from this angle. Not over the top Tony Stark or Wayne Manor style expensive, but pricey and nice and modern. He's got a little bit of a five o'clock shadow going on - ignore that it isn't five o'clock - and is wearing a worn Boston Red Sox cap, which he pushes off his head so he can run a hand through his hair.]

I haven't been in this apartment since the world went to hell.

[But he does recognize it, and give it a sort of sad, solemn look as he glances over his shoulders and looks around a bit.]

When things like the actual zombie apocalypse happen? [He continues with the finality of someone who's had this conversation one too many times.] You kind of need to start making some rules. I always looked at is as a reason to try and preserve some kind of order, or humanity. Other people made up some to stop them from getting too attached.

[And that's definitely part of why he's been telling everyone just to call him Boston - it's where he was headed after things went to shit, and it's the name Tallahassee had given him when they'd first met. She had said it was better that way, if people were strangers even after they'd been traveling together for a while, so when things kept going to shit, you couldn't get hurt any more than you already were.

Which is kind of the problem, here.]

So if anyone has a recent explanation for why I've got a picture with me, Tallahassee and the kid she rescued acting like some big, happy family- [He holds up said picture for you all to see, which features a much more put together looking Jack, a dark haired woman and a blonde toddler all smiling together out in public in a pretty clearly zombie free Los Angeles.] I'd definitely be interested in hearing it.

[There's definitely some bitterness there, but he mostly just sounds tired.

(And maybe bitter.)]

Cap, I really think I need a drink.

[ooc: Jack is from Zombieland canon, and has been traveling with counterparts to Kate, Aaron, Sawyer, Hurley and Sayid. He's also still an inmate, because Jack's issues transcend universes.]

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Probably best to meet you in the pub, then. [He pauses, then turns to give ~~Jack~~ Boston a view of his room. It's messy, it has a TV and a PS4 (not that he has any clue what that is), and it's definitely not the little apartment he had in the 1940s.]

I'm feeling a little dysphoric myself.

Can't imagine why. [Because well, that's definitely different. For you, anyway.

And with that, he will be retrieving his baseball hat and heading up to the pub.]

[Scott heads up to meet him, shield strapped to his back. He carries it about on the first few days of a flood, just in case. Truthfully, he might carry it more often than that: sometimes, he just feels as though a fight's around the corner, especially here.]

What's your poison, J - ah - Boston?

[He doesn't even have it in him to bristle at the slip up, although he still sometimes does a double take when he sees the shield.

Captain America. Good Christ, how is this his life?]

I don't care.

[It's a good life, buddy.

And because Scott doesn't know much about booze, because it's really never been his thing, he just grabs a bottle of beer and hands it over.]

Hope that's not terrible, then.

["Boston" doesn't even bother looking at the label before grabbing it and taking a long drink. He swallows and wipes his mouth on his wrist before shrugging more or less amiably.]

It's better than the shit Knoxville kept trying to convince us was worth trading aspirin for. [Asshole.

He takes another drink before looking at Scott, not quite concerned, but definitely interested.]

So. How'd you make out?

[Scott smiles to himself just a little as Jack goes for it.]

Still don't think I like this Knoxville character. Doesn't seem to have anyone else's interests at heart.

[Scott shrugs, settling down into a bar stool.]

I've got someone else's room all right, but the shield was with me, so it could've been worse. You holding up okay?

It's the apocalypse, he's the least of anyone's problems. [Sort of. Boston does fucking hate him though.

He sits down next to him and gives him a look before glancing away again, staring at the back of the bar.]

Does it look like I'm holding up okay?

To be honest, sir, you always look a little rough around the edges.

[He gives Jack a small smile, resting his hands on the bar.]

I've been told I'm a good listener.

You don't have to call me sir.

[But he doesn't turn down the offer, as irritated as he sounds. Instead, he takes another drink, swallows, and then tries to figure out how to explain what's going on here.]

I just don't understand how this is supposed to help. It's not like she's here.

I admit to some confusion, um. Sir.

[Cursory, the term of respect, though Slevin is perfectly friendly otherwise. He adjusts his rounded hat with the air of shrugging it off, not quite a falter so much as an annoyance. Titles. Ugh.]

What rules could you possibly have enforced that would have kept you from seeing a certain apartment again? Or a certain photograph?

What is a zombie?

It's what happens when mad cow disease starts infecting people. You're basically dead, except you're walking around and trying to eat anything that still has a heartbeat.

And I couldn't go back because LA's been infested with them. The picture's new.

Mad cow disease. Right. Of course.

[He has no idea what that is other than the obvious.]

So less a rule and more a survival imperative.

Yeah. Pretty much.

Good philosophy. Attachments can weaken you. [She knows this from experience.]

No explanations for you, but I think you might be the only one who recognizes their new room. Interesting.

What's yours look like?

It's... the inside of ship or something. All metal with no decoration. A cheap cot. Drawings on the walls, dolls and toys and a lot of trash on the floor.

Does anyone else recognize it?

Not so far.

This flood doesn't make any sense.

No. The random magical changes in our afterlives are usually so much easier to understand.

Everyone being compelled to tell the truth is a little more straightforward, yeah.

Just a bit. That said, I think I prefer this one.

✈ day one hundred and twenty nine, video

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